The Artist and the Spectator
by Rai Noir
Summary: My one-shot of Germano. "orz I'm not sure if I should finish it or not, but if I get enough positive feedback, I'll continue! Enjoy!


_~Prologue~_

_Ciao. My name is Lovino Vargas. Yes, the same Vargas, the older brother of the ever famous artist Feliciano Vargas. Why am I here, you may ask? My brother claims I have no artistic talent whatsoever. I'm here to tell you my story, to prove him wrong. That's right. The story I like to call "The Artist and the Spectator". Why the odd title, you may ask? Well, this is not only my story, but my brother's and his friend, Ludwig (Hence the Spectator part). For a little while, Ludwig would watch Feliciano paint glorious portraits on the streets of Rome, even some of them would be OF him, but that was very rare._

_For a long time, everyone was convinced that my brother had it all; talent, good looks, some people thought he was intelligent, just because he could use a paintbrush and create some elaborate painting on a 12 x 14 canvas. He just took in the compliments and smiled, like it was no big deal. Anyway, while he was on the streets, showing off his skills, I was up in the studio, creating my own magic. For the longest time, Feliciano bragged to me about how he got his talents from our grandfather, the Roman Empire, and how I got Jack shit. That's where he was wrong. I would have shot him down then and there, but I didn't want to hurt him, so I simply laughed and smiled, always saying, _

_"Yeah, I sure did get the short end of the stick, didn't I?" And he'd laugh and smile. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I were discovered..._

_It's not easy living in your little brother's shadow... That is, until Ludwig came along..._

"It looks like it's going to rain." Feliciano said as he gazed up at the sky, sat in front of a white canvas. He glanced behind him at the robust German behind him. "Don't you think, Ludwig?" He smiled at his friend. Feliciano and Ludwig were once a couple, that is, until Feliciano supposedly got "bored" and requested they break up. Now, Ludwig wasn't naturally one to show emotion in these kinds of situations. He just kept a straight face and nodded, commenting that it may have been best for the both of them. Of course, they'd still be friends, the best of the best. But deep down inside, Ludwig was broken; shattered, torn apart. Feliciano had gotten _bored_ of him. Wouldn't you feel the same? He tried his best to keep a straight face whenever he thought about that day. It had been months ago, and still his straight face faltered slightly at said memory. Some nights, the pain in his chest became so unbearable that he would go to his brother for condolence and comfort. Gilbert is and will ever be the only man to ever witness Ludwig Beilschmidt, the perfect soldier, cry.

Ludwig looked up at Feliciano, his chin firmly planted in his skyward facing palm, elbow placed on his knee. Giving a light nod, he directed his attention to the hustle and bustle of the streets of Rome, Italy. So many people were walking, smiling, despite the gloomy skies that predicted a very wet future, possibly within the next hour or so. He was amazed by how happy they looked, jealous even. He'd watch young lovers walk past, hand in hand, and as he did so, his heart sank further and further.

"I wonder what Fratello is doing…" Ludwig was suddenly snapped back to reality by the familiar voice of the young Italian. He was staring up at the building he and his older brother, Lovino, currently resided in. Ludwig pondered this himself for quite some time. Every day, Feliciano would ask his brother if he would like to join him for the day, but each time, he declined. Thinking back to it now, Ludwig was curious to know what he did up there all day. "You should go see what he's doing, Luddy." Ugh... There he goes with the pet names again.

"Huh? Why me?" He asked, standing from his seat on the wall surrounding the fountain of the main street.

"Well, because I need to stay out here and do my stuff." He may be an airhead, but he did hold a logical point. Feliciano was an artist who did commission work. Ludwig sighed and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, hand on his hip. _He does have a point…_ He thought to himself. He eventually nodded and made his way up the front steps of the building.

"I'll be back in a few." He called back to Feliciano as he entered the building, on a mission to the Vargas loft.


End file.
